The American Pageant Chapter 2 Summary

     The passing of the Stamp Act by Parliament in 1765 caused a rush of angry protests by the colonists in British America that perhaps "aroused and unified Americans as no previous political event ever had." It levied a tax on legal documents, almanacs, newspapers, and nearly every other form of paper used in the colonies. Adding to this hardship was the need for the tax to be paid in British sterling, not in colonial paper money. Although this duty had been in effect in England for over half a century and was already in effect in several colonies in the 1750?s, it called into question the authority of Parliament over the overseas colonies that had no representation therein.

However, such widely referenced pieces of writing are not directly used nor do they play a large role regarding Morgan’s claims; to the French Indian War, American Revolution, the Sugar Act (1764), the Stamp Act (1765). The reason as to why he includes and examines the historical documents is perhaps to showcase the outcomes and governmental direction which the U.S took after the American Revolution. Which were consequently shaped by flawed tax regulations and British parliament. Moreover, The Sugar Act, Stamp Act, and Navigation Acts are also utilized as sources, specifically Morgan studies such acts to inform the reader of their inability to conduct their intended purposes or rather how they angered/influenced colonists at the time in a very powerful manner (8-10). Considering he alludes to the notion that it influenced the outbreak of the American Revolution; it is evident that taxing the colonies would not be accepted ignorantly, as the colonies were formed for a reason, to leave the abusive British

act, along with Britain political infighting over which party was pushing America to rebel, would

I walked around the mound and faced a frightful common grave. Tightly packed corpses were heaped so close together that only the heads showed. Most were wounded in the head and the blood flowed over their shoulders. Some still moved. Others raised their hands and turned their heads to show that they were still alive. The ditch was two­thirds full. I estimate that it held a thousand bodies. I turned my eyes toward the man who had carried out the execution. He was an SS

After Aileana is rescued, she’s taken to Kendrick’s home where a Selkie healer tends to her injuries. Kendrick is made aware of the full extent of her injuries. The healer is unclear in regards to whether Aileana was raped or not. Kendrick states that if she's been raped it would not affect his feeling for his lifemate, for that is what, she is to him. She later wakes to make a surfing reference in regards to her bruised and battered condition. She said, “That was worse than getting worked at the wedge and getting a sand facial at the same time.” (All surfer terms along with Gaelic and Scottish words are in the glossary at the back of the manuscript.)

It replayed over and over in my head. The screams and shouts echoing. They grew louder and louder, shoving me into the back corner, behind the old red rain coat, never worn. The floor was cold as ice, the room was so dark you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. My heart beat rapidly, louder and louder, as it beat out of my chest. What was I doing, why was I here? Let the noise stop, let them surrender.

The young hero's body fell back in one quick, hard, motion to the ground, clenching his teeth, shaking from head to toes. Swiftly immobilizing the hero’s head by putting his own hands on both side of it, Constantine closed his eyes once more. In an instant, both man ended up in total silence. The group behind looked at each other, unsure if they were supposed to intervene, after all the noises, the words, the groans of pain, the silence was just as unnerving, maybe even more.

Yet the sound increased --and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound --much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath -- and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly --more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men -- but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed --I raved --I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder --louder --louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! --no, no! They heard! --they suspected! --they knew! --they were making a mockery of my horror! --this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! --and now --again! --hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!

“ It was terrifying. There was someone whispering in my ear. The whispers became louder. They soon became nothing but screams of children and women, and no matter how hard I struggled, I … I just couldn't move.”

Unbeknownst to them, there--amidst heaps of mangled corpses once belonging to the innocent inhabitants of the unfortunate village-- lay a live human, beyond terrified of the events that had transpired before his very eyes. So lucky was he to have survived a hideous massacre carried out by an army full of a deep hatred. He was absolutely revolted.

The last cry from the boy was replaced by the sound of gurgling as blood spewed out of the wound where the sleek arrow had punctured right through his throat, and the sound of a body flopping against the cold stone floor, metal chains clanking. The last twitches of a body struggling to survive…

The man stood, feet planted, in the middle of the circle made up of four men and a woman. His sword was drawn and held at waist-height, the tip still despite the pain in his side as he studied the three he could see in his direct line of sight. The only indication he was even wounded was the bright red splattered and seeping down the pure white of his clothing, the tear in the fabric on his side where the skin was split. It was a deep wound, but not deep enough to kill him, at least not immediately. The blood loss was going to get to him sooner or later.

They heard an unsettling dominating male voice speak while they waited, then it suddenly stopped. A nervous pause followed by a calmer voice with a disturbing tone. The warrior and his captive at the front of the line stepped down and walked into the light, disappeared. The traumatized prisoners advanced one captive one warrior closer toward the

The crowd’s cheers were muffled in her ears as she whirled around to see a tall, brooding figure stalk through the iron gates. He was dressed in a long black cloak like hers, with a mask the colour of blood concealing half of his face, his vibrant green eyes flashing murderously behind it, and a confident smile plastered on his lips.

“There’s no time for questions. We gotta go! Here, take this. We need to protect ourselves,” she quickly replied. Eva shoved a knife into my hand and then ran down the stairs. I got a glimpse of my parents, who were lying on their bed. The blood oozing from their bodies stained the cotton linens. The window was open with the moonlight illuminating the horrific scene. We were still in our sleeping garments as I followed her into the stillness of the day. The earth was not quite awake yet.